Not Ready
by offtheupright
Summary: A night of food, fun and festivity awaits Bentley and Penelope, so long as they can shove down the massive doubts about what the person at the other end of the corridor will think of them.
1. Chapter 1

Bentley fiddled with his tie endlessly. He pulled its wings gently and sharply, moved it left and right across his collar, and on a few occasions unravelled it entirely to tie it again. It was only on the fifth unsatisfactory attempt did he accept the futility of it all.

"Gah!" he grunted.

He hurled the tie back onto the bed and collected the other one lying there, the traditional one. He wrapped it around his neck and fiddled it into a knot, but stopped before he could pull it tight and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Something didn't feel right. That tie with this suit, it felt…off. He couldn't elaborate on it, he just knew it felt wrong, but then the only alternative was the bow tie he had spent the last fifteen minutes being unsatisfied with. He slumped forward in his wheelchair.

"It's no use," he whined. Deep down he'd always known that, but it made it no less painful to have it confirmed. What was Sly thinking? It was great they were getting together again after so long apart, but why did he have to make it a formal setting? Pompier was probably the only restaurant where the diners had to meet stricter rules than the staff when it came to dress. Their best times together were the times spent crushed in the van or lounging around whatever house they'd commandeered that week, and to celebrate that they'd go out and spend a ridiculous sum of money on food they could balance on their fingernails? Then again, finding a takeaway to pull in at afterwards to fill the rest of his stomach was the least of his problems right now.

He picked up the two ties and held them in front of his eyes. His powerful brain whirred and calculated, but it came no closer to finding an answer than it had done in the countless attempts before. It didn't upset him – fashion had never been his strong point. He hadn't even worn a suit as a disguise, let alone owned one. How was he expected to pick up something immaculate enough to impress at Pompier with a resume like that? Then again, he could live with not impressing a bunch of snooty aristocrats. It was what was down the hall that worried him.

He deflated at the thought of Penelope. He straightened his spine as best he could and smoothed out his shirt, but his shoulders refused to come out from their sag of defeat, and the longer he stared at his reflection he couldn't help but agree. The shirt was too big, and the collar too wide. His jacket was marginally better, but the colour just seemed too shiny, like it was made of plastic. He'd made the wrong choice in the shop, and if he could see that what would she think? What would she think of seeing her boyfriend who, having had a good week to prepare for this special occasion, had picked a horrible outfit to wear? What would she think seeing her boyfriend unable to dress himself properly? Her short, four-eyed, wheelchair-bound boyfriend? Her dorky, ugly, useless…

He shook his head vigorously to try and rid himself of the thoughts, but when he observed his reflection again he only sunk deeper into his seat. What did she see in him? Alright, they had a shared interest in technology, but he was hardly the only techie out there. There'd certainly be techies taller, stronger and more handsome than he. She deserved better than him – that wasn't self-deprecation, it was just a fact. She was smart, talented, beautiful and she meant the world to him, but there was only so much he could offer her. If she asked him to build her a time machine or a teleporter he'd slave away night and day to make it happen, but if she asked him to dance or carry her home he was beaten. For all his talents there was more to life than hacking computers, and once he was away from a workbench that was where his ability fell down.

He prised his glasses from his face, wiping the steam from them with one hand as he rubbed his eyes with the other. What little appetite he'd had for going out tonight had gone completely. Going to a stuffy, formal restaurant was a pain that could be endured, but having to present himself to Penelope, upstage her with his terrible dress sense and complete lack of airs and graces compared to Sly, was a thought he didn't want to bear.

His phone buzzed on the bed behind him. He cursed to himself. Time to go, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"Penelope, are you ready? The taxi's here," he called down the hall in his best impression of his usual voice.

"Er…just a minute," she called back to him, "I'll meet you at the door."

The sound of her voice made his heart flutter, and then squeezed his chest tight with fear. He forced it down and grabbed the first tie his hand could reach, tying it hastily into place. Did it look good? He didn't care anymore. He was never going to be satisfied with appearance no matter what he did. All he could do now was swallow his pride and get on with it.

He rolled his wheelchair backwards and angled it to face the door. His heart pounded as he twisted the handle and peered at the door at the opposite end of the corridor. Closed for now, but soon it would be open and she'd see him looking far from perfect. His nerves screamed at him to slam the door, change into his bedclothes and hide beneath the covers for the rest of the night, but instead he sighed and grabbed his wheels.

"Let's get this over with," he said gloomily, and propelled himself out of his shelter.

* * *

 **I'm back! With something new this time! :D  
**

 **Some devious soul convinced me to play Sly Cooper over Christmas, and suffice to say it was love at first sight. I fell particularly for Bentley and Penelope, so it was only natural I churn out some scribbles involving them. ^_^**

 **In Sly 3 in particular Bentley seems like a bit of an insecure soul around Penelope. I'm just following that up like the monster I am. Let's hope things work out okay for him. :)**

 **Reviews are always appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

Penelope wasn't a stranger to discomfort, but never like this. She'd trembled in her boots the first time she'd assumed the identity of the Black Baron, and spent most of her time chained up in the brig of LeFwee's ship worrying about what the future held for her, but the thing that made her stomach churn right now was completely new to her. It made her face burn red with anger and embarrassment. All the things she'd been through, all the scares and near-misses that had beset her over the years, and the thing she was worrying about at this moment in time was her appearance.

She studied herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, and once more came to the conclusion that something was wrong. But what exactly? Was it her dress? Her hair? Her skin?

"It's all of them," she groaned to herself.

She slumped down on the bed in despair. She'd had a feeling since the beginning that it would turn out like this. She was a mechanic – she lived in overalls. Practical clothes, purchased in bulk and on the premise they would last as long as possible. Coupled with the fact she'd been alone for most of her adult life she'd never needed anything more formal, but thanks to Sly that had changed all of a sudden, mischievous devil that he was. A handsome devil, but a devil nonetheless.

She swallowed her pride and returned to the mirror, cracking her knuckles to reassure herself she was going to get this fixed, though where to begin she had no idea. It wasn't that she looked awful, it was that she looked…off. Nothing was to her liking, but then she'd expected that. When she'd gone out shopping she'd let the salespeople take the lead in the hope that their judgement was better than hers, and predictably it had delivered mediocre results. To an uncaring eye she probably looked passable, but she could see that her skirt was a little too long, and the colour a shade too bright, and her lipstick too dark, and her mascara too thin, and her hair tied up all wrong, and her stupid glasses blowing her eyes up to a ridiculous size…

She ripped her glasses from her face in anger, but quickly replaced them when the world turned into a blur of colours. As the world came back into focus she found her reflection had deflated, shoulders and ears hanging limp.

"What does it matter?" she told herself, "The invitation says formal dress, and I'm dressed formally. That's all I need. Why does it matter if I'm not perfect enough for the cover of a magazine?"

The sound of rolling wheels echoed from down the hall as if to answer her question for her. Her knees trembled, and she scuttled back to the bed before they gave way entirely. She twiddled her thumbs in silence, listening for any more noises. None came, but the one sound was enough to leave an impression in her mind, one that had quietly bothered her all night and was finally rising to the surface.

"Bentley," she whispered.

She couldn't put into words exactly what she feared. He had a heart of gold – he would never belittle her or make her feel bad. He'd been everything she could ask for and more in their time together and she didn't expect that to change, but could she say the same? He'd thrown himself into all her various projects, given her every helping hand he could muster, even shared some of the spoils of the Cooper fortune with her so she could buy components, and how was she repaying that? On the one night of the year that was important to him?

"No effort," she hissed at herself, "You've put in no effort at all."

She curled her arms around her churning stomach, watching the world disappear as her burning eyes misted over her glasses. She just wasn't used to these occasions, and she had no one to turn to to help her make the right decisions. She tried to reassure herself with that thought, but it didn't slacken the squeeze on her chest. There were no excuses – she'd hit countless roadblocks when building things and rolled her sleeves up and worked through them, so why hadn't she done that here? Why hadn't she listened to the doubts in her mind? Why had she just nodded along to the shopkeeper's recommendation of this rose-coloured dress when she'd liked the turquoise one a little more? Why had she tied her hair up the only way she knew how instead of looking to see if there was a better style? Why had it only occurred to her to take a shower when Bentley had announced he was going to get washed and changed for the evening ahead?

She studied herself in the mirror with one last forlorn look. She looked okay, but she knew herself she could look so much better if she'd thought properly about it. Her projects got her full attention, but her boyfriend's special occasions? They hadn't even come close. Valentine's Day? She'd got him a card while he'd bought her flowers and taken her out to dinner. His birthday? Only bought him one gift and taken him to dinner at a really mediocre restaurant. She'd treat him like a distraction, an inconvenience. Something to stumble your way through before returning to normal. This evening was the cherry on top, and seeing the fruits of her apathy laid bare in front of her turned her cheeks the same colour. He deserved better than her, better than some poorly-dressed, thoughtless, four-eyed dork like herself…

"Penelope, are you ready? The taxi's here."

Her pulse spiked. No escape now. The only option that remained was damage control.

"Er…just a minute," she called back to him, "I'll meet you at the door."

She dashed to the mirror and gave herself one last glance over, smoothing and tweaking and polishing whatever she could in the hope that everything would suddenly right itself, but after a frantic minute of work she was no happier than she had been the first time she'd looked in the glass.

"It's no use," she groaned.

She tore herself away from the unsatisfactory image and faced the door. Her heart screamed at her not to, but she pushed it down and grabbed the handle of the door.

"It's your own fault," she said, "Go and face the consequences of it."

She pulled the door ajar. The hall was empty, but around the corner she could hear the rubber of Bentley's tyres gripping the wooden floor. Blinking back the warmth swelling in her eyes, she stepped out into the open.

* * *

 **A change of perspective to the other end of the hall for C2, naturally. The fun of characters like Penelope is that they're never properly developed due to being a side character, and that gives you scope to lay down some of your own interpretations. Unimaginatively though, I think of her as being like Bentley. XD The two are very alike, let's be honest: nerdy folk with a single-minded love of technology. Perfectly happy, until those horrible things called emotions trip them up and decide that they won't be content with just cogs and gears, and because they're so inexperienced they don't really know how to deal with the ins and outs of it all, bless 'em. You saw it with bentley in C1, and now it's Penelope's turn to go through the wringer.  
**

 **One more chapter to go, though, so we'll see then how it works out. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The cool air of the corridor had been swirling around Bentley's shell since he'd rolled his way out, but only when he heard the sound of footsteps did it bite into him. Out of instinct he grabbed his wheels, but he stopped himself before he could do anything.

" _No_ ," he thought, " _Don't do anything stupid. You'll only be running away from her, and what good will that do?_ "

Swallowing his fears, he turned himself around so that he faced the hall, and listened to the approaching steps. His heart initially synchronised with their rhythm, but accelerated as they drew closer. Two beats to four beats to eight beats a step, before stopping entirely as Penelope stepped into view.

They locked eyes, and were instantly left unable to look away. Blood rushed to their heads. To their brains to fire a thousand thoughts and emotions through, and to their cheeks to make them glow bright. The only place the rush couldn't reach was their tongues, which had shrivelled into the backs of their throats.

They twitched and fidgeted and shifted from foot to foot, but their eyes remained trained on each other, looking them up and down inbetween periods of contact. Still no one found the bravery to explain themselves, not until Bentley's phone buzzed with another alert from the taxi driver.

"Y-Y-You," he stammered, his knowledge of his own language suddenly limited, "Y-You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Penelope answered, voice barely above a whisper.

Despite their affirmations neither of them moved. Bentley grabbed his wheels, but his arms remained slack and relaxed, his eyes still trained on his increasingly anxious girlfriend. A thousand thoughts and worries crammed their way into her head, until the pressure became too much.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Likewise."

"That's good."

"Indeed. I was a little worried, it's just you keep looking at me," she shuffled awkwardly, "Is there something wrong?"

"No…"

"Is it my dress? I'm really sorry if it's an inappropriate colour. Or is it my hair? Or my stupid glasses? I'm really sorry. I tried my best, I honestly did…"

"No! No!" Bentley exclaimed, "There's nothing wrong with you."

Penelope blinked.

"Oh."

"Yeah. The reason I was looking at you like that is because…because I think you look amazing."

Penelope's heart stopped.

"Oh," she said again. Much, much quieter.

"Y-Yeah. I was staring because I was taken aback at how beautiful you look. No, are. Wait, that came out wrong. I don't mean I think you're beautiful only now that you're dressed up, I've always thought you were beautiful, it's just…"

"No, it's okay. I get what you meant," she replied. She could barely hear her voice over the sound of her pounding heart. Was he for real?

"I-I just think you look really, really beautiful tonight. That dress really suits you."

"Oh, thank you," she shyly smoothed out her skirt, "I'm really glad you like it. And for what it's worth, I think you look great too."

Now it was Bentley's turn to have thoughts racing through his mind. He sat bolt upright in his seat.

"Really?"

"Yeah. That jacket fits you really well. And I like your tie as well. You look…sharp; I kinda like that."

The tension in their shoulders slackened a little, but the nerves continued to gnaw at both their stomachs. They were lovely words to hear, but were they just saying that? Maybe they did look good in formal attire, but surely she couldn't ignore his stubby build and wheelchair? Surely he couldn't ignore her past apathy and horrible glasses?

"I-I'm glad to hear that," said Bentley. He forced a laugh, "I just worried, y'know, that I'd picked the wrong outfit."

"Yeah, me too."

"Silly really, isn't it? Worrying about clothes when there's so many bigger worries out there."

"Yeah."

They fell silent and locked eyes again, and with the initial shock passed something flowed between them. What exactly neither was sure, but it inspired them to speak up.

"I guess I've just been really looking forward to this night," Bentley said.

"Same. I've stressed myself a bit over clothes because I wanted tonight to be as perfect as it could be."

"Yeah, and I suppose I was scared I'd get it wrong, because sometimes the fact you tried isn't enough to hide the fact that you can't do something."

"And sometimes it's the other way around, where you feel like you haven't tried hard enough and you're letting everyone around you down."

They paused again as they processed each other's words. Their brows sunk in hurt, and their eyes began to burn.

"Bentley…"

"Penelope…"

"Is something wrong?" they said in unison, then nodded in time in response.

Bentley grabbed his wheels and rolled up to Penelope, and took her hands in his own.

"Penelope, I'm not going to lie to you. Sometimes I worry a bit about you and I."

Penelope's lip trembled. "Why?"

"Well…It's just…look at you, and look at me."

"Is it the wheelchair? You know I don't mind that."

"It's not the chair itself, it's the fact I'm stuck in it. Later tonight I bet that Sly will be Sly and invite Carmelita to dance with him. What if you want to do the same? You can't, because of me. And that's not the only thing we can't do. You mean the world to me, Penelope, and I'd do anything I can for you, but there are some things that are out of my reach."

He clamped his eyes shut and ripped the glasses from his face, as if trying to resist the temptation of looking at her again. Penelope watched him until her own misted over from the heat of her face.

"You know," she croaked, "Sometimes I worry a bit about you and I as well."

She cleaned her glasses, and when she could see again found he had replaced his own, looking at her with uncertain anticipation.

"Why?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Because sometimes I think you deserve better than me."

Bentley's face twisted in confusion and hurt.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I feel like I don't always do enough to support you. Look at what you just said: 'you mean the world to me', 'I'd do anything I can for you'. When have I ever said something like that to you? It's not like you don't deserve it, but I've never really given you your dues, and I wish I had."

"I-I had no idea you felt that way."

"And I had no idea you felt the way you feel either."

She crouched down so that their eyes were level.

"Bentley, do you feel like I haven't supported you?"

"Of course not."

"And I don't feel like you're inadequate for me either. Neither of us are perfect, but neither of us mind, so it's okay. All that matters is that we care about each other."

Her eyes began to water, and her voice cracked,

"'Cause you know what? You might not be able to lead me around a dancefloor or carry me over the threshold, but you can build things with me and take me places and tell me I look beautiful, and that's worth way more to me than some stupid dance ever will."

She lunged forward and grabbed Bentley in a tight hug. At first Bentley was taken aback, but he quickly curled his arms as far as they would go around her back and held her against his shoulder.

"I love you so much," he told her. The mouse tilted her head so she could look at him and smiled.

"I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to ruin my makeup," she laughed, swatting away tears from her eyes. Bentley laughed and gently rocked her until her eyes were clear.

"I love you too," she eventually said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Their canoodling was cut short by an irate horn from outside the door. The couple bolted upright.

"Oh yeah, that cab driver's been waiting a while. We'd better get going," Bentley blurted in embarrassment.

"Affirmative," Penelope replied. She grabbed the door and hauled it open. Bentley gestured to it.

"After you," he insisted, but Penelope's response was to walk away from the door. She stepped around his back and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair.

"I think it's time I pulled my weight, if you don't mind," she said.

Bentley's only response was a smile of appreciation, and as she gently pushed off and closed the door behind her a grin of her own grew on her face. Not identical, but the same glow of delight radiating from their lips.

* * *

 **Well, that's that. Nice and fluffy in the end, innit? I never stray too far from it at the end of the day. XD**

 **How do I feel about this upon reflection? Well...not at all, really. This is something I just wanted to write. Where I go from here I'm not sure. I feel I'm on the downward at the moment creative-wise, but you never know when inspiration strikes. I'm just glad I did something I wanted to do before I hit that rough part. ^_^**


End file.
